


Those who seek respite

by squorsh



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Ishval Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squorsh/pseuds/squorsh
Summary: The Ishvalan War of Extermination was a long and grueling ten years, both for those who were in it for the long run and those who joined later on. The State Alchemists of Order 3066 were out of their elements, some coping better than others. This follows the Stained Glass Alchemist, Trudy Ayers, and how she spends a run of the mill day in the harsh desert of Ishval.





	Those who seek respite

**war**  
/wôr/  
_noun_

  * a sustained effort to deal with or end a particularly unpleasant or undesirable situation or condition.



* * *

 “They took my leg! Those red-eyed scoundrels took my leg!!”

“Sir, I really don’t mean to belittle your pain, but you’ve been saying that for a few minutes now and it’s a little distracting.”

The shade of the med tent was supposed to be a welcome respite from the harsh heat of the desert outside, and yet all the Stained Glass Alchemist was met with upon entering her companion’s work quarters was a screaming old man on a cot. At his bedside was the sector’s designated doctor and a newfound friend of hers, a shaking smile on his chiseled features. He started a bit and looked up when the woman entered, grin turning more genuine as he gave her a brief wave. “Hey, Trudy; there should still be some coffee left over there if you want some. Sorry I can’t really talk…”

Without a word, the woman stepped silently over to the small tray table on the opposite side of the tent and began to fix her a cup. “The eighteenth sector is clear,” she commented as the sickly brown liquid trickled down into a cup that she could only pray had been washed, “so I’m back early. I didn’t mean to interrupt your surgery.”

“It’s alright, really,” the man replied, dabbing at his patient’s newfound legless stump with towels to slow the bleeding. The old man it belonged to was gripping the cot so tightly his arms trembled with fervor, jaw clenched tightly to resist the urge to yell in pain anymore. “I just need to sew this up and bandage it, and you’ll be good to go home, sir.”

“ _Good?!”_ the man suddenly spat at a volume louder than either of them expected, a bit of coffee spilling out of Trudy’s mug with her slight start just as she had begun to turn around. She pondered speaking, but the elder was well on his way into a tirade. “ _Nothing_ about this is good! I can’t go out there fighting on one damn leg! I have to get those bastards back for taking my – “

“Silver,” Trudy interrupted, voice so firm it cut through his words like a knife through butter, “if your attackers were on the east side, then they’ve been taken care of. Fretting like this will make you stress, which will make you sick, which will make recovery slower.”

“She’s right, you know,” the doctor added with a nod as he nudged surgical thread through the eye of a needle and tied the end into a knot. “Especially with your age, sir; you deserve to go home early and relax with your family!”

If there was anything Dr. Clifton Reeves could have said to make matters worse, it was that. His patient let out an angry howl, slamming a tattooed hand down on the cot and making the spool of thread fall to the ground. “Don’t treat me like I’m some feeble old coot! I’m the Silver Alchemist; I’m a god at my craft! I’ll teach every single one of those savages a lesson if it’s the last thing I do – they can’t send me home!”

As Reeves ducked down to chase the steadily unwinding spool of thread across the floor and under the man’s cot, Trudy took a casual sip of her coffee. It was flat and far too bitter – a taste all too fitting considering the circumstances. “You’re letting your anger get the best of you, Silver; you need to learn how to calm down or else this explosive personality of yours will be your downfall.”

“You shut up!” he barked, yelling again as something bumped the underside of his cot and caused him to start. The good doctor surfaced once more, smiling sheepishly at his friend before tossing the thread and leaving to get some more from a first aid case resting on a shelf nearby. Trudy tapped her pinkie against the underside of her mug and casually commented, “Cliff, don’t you have any sedatives?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, oblivious to the aghast expression on the old alchemist’s face in response, rummaging around in a separate container. “I do, yes; I was going to use one if he didn’t calm down, and now seems like a good a time as any.”

Predictably, the elder made a fuss, even so much as stomping his stump down and causing fresh blood to sputter out of the wound. Reeves winced, preparing the syringe as quickly as possible, and just as the man inhaled deeply to speak, a needle was stuck in his arm and the dropper was pushed down.

It wasn’t a moment before his words became slurred and he eventually shut up entirely, bulged eyes closing and head lulling to the side. For a moment, there was silence in the tent, only broken by Trudy commenting, “It’s a bit of a delayed question, but I was going to ask you how your day was going.”

Reeves allowed himself a soft laugh – a sound far too foreign in a place such as Ishval. “Oh, same old, same old… I guess I’ve had my share of excitement for the day with this old man; Comanche was always one to overreact during injuries…” With a sigh, he re-threaded a fresh needle. “He’s been in twice now, and almost had a heart attack when his hand got a deep cut because of some shrapnel. Started yelling about how he’ll never be able to – “ He put on a deep, gruff voice as he lifted the stump with a free hand and tugged his surgical mask up with the other, “ – ‘show those scum what he can really do!’”

Trudy gave a soft _tch_ – the only semblance of a laugh the man had ever heard her express, and replied, “Maybe it’s best he’s going home. He’s too stubborn and blood-hungry to be in this war… even if that’s probably what the military wants.”

She took another sip of coffee, studying the man across the room as he worked. Reeves held a face that was too kind for a war like this – the kind of face you would see smiling across from you at a shop counter or upon a friendly stranger. His eyes, such a rich shade of amber they appeared almost golden, crinkled at the corners when he smiled – which was often – and his pale complexion was accented by the heavy, prominent bags beneath his eyes and the scruffy stubble scattered around his chin. His long bangs that contrasted the shortness of his overall haircut were pinned back at either side of his head so they would not get in the way of his work, and his gloved, rather large hands were speckled with blood.

His voice was too soft, as well. Though it held a deep tone to it that one would expect out of a man of his stature, it was never gruff or irritable in any capacity, instead holding a homely warmth that instantly made him trustworthy at the first word he spoke. Trudy often wondered how he ended up in a place like this… but she supposed that could be said for any of them. Every soldier had his reasons, and she was not so intrusive as to prod into the affairs of others – even someone she had begun to call a friend.

“And how was your day?” Reeves spoke up, breaking the silence and causing the woman to glance up from her coffee cup. Her gaze dipped back down to the liquid inside, the mug now only halfway full. This was equal parts to gauge how much longer she could stay inside sipping coffee as well as an excuse to not have to look at the man sewing up the flesh of Comanche’s stump.

She waited another few beats of silence before replying dryly, “Well, I’ve lost my fondness for music after today’s events, so I suppose not the best.” Crossing her arms loosely, she tapped the side of her mug against the opposite arm’s elbow, careful not to spill its contents. “Sector 18 was nearly obliterated. Crimson and I made sure of that, and the psychopath wouldn’t stop humming the entire time.”

“Maybe ‘psychopath’ is a little harsh,” Reeves offered, but when Trudy glanced over at the man, and he at her, they shared a look of understanding. The woman was not joking by any means, and she was never the type to exaggerate. Realizing this, he turned back to his work, and Trudy back to her coffee. “… Sorry,” he finally said. “I know he’s… not the best company to a lot of people here.”

“I have no respect for those who take pleasure in a job like this,” she said rather matter-of-factly. “The same can go for the man whose leg you’re tending to; I’ve seen him when he fights. He loves the adrenaline, the thrill, the satisfaction… I think he’s going senile. Thank goodness he’s going to be away from here after you’re done with him.”

It was quiet in the tent afterward, Trudy taking another sip of coffee, her mug now only one-quarter full. She found herself scoffing under her breath with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t really matter. People are dying no matter what we do. Women, children… what’s the difference if it’s behind the hands of a homicidal maniac or a person forced to kill? It was naïve of me to think otherwise.”

When he didn’t respond, Trudy looked back up. He seemed intent on his work, brow knit in thought. A pang of guilt spread through the woman’s chest, snuffing it out rather quickly as she took a final sip of her drink and placed it back on the cart. “Thank you for your time and for the coffee, Reeves. I’ll see you at supper.”

Her friend inhaled to speak, but she had already pushed back the flap of the tent and stepped out, forcing herself not to squint in the lingering daylight of the hot desert sun. Other soldiers bustled about, a couple of familiar faces visible in the crowd that she did not wish to linger on. They were all the same as one another, save for the fact that a choice few were living, breathing human weapons. Though, Trudy supposed all of them were in a way. A trained sniper was just as deadly as an alchemist could be.

Some soldiers were sitting around and chatting, but the Stained Glass Alchemist hated sitting and doing nothing. She had to keep moving, keep walking, keep doing _something_ to ensure her brain stayed occupied. Unfortunately, in a place such as Ishval, her only real option was to wander back into the fray and continue her assault.

Or she could wander around aimlessly and appear as if she knew what she was doing. This was always an option as well.

There was a fountain near the main camp of her sector, the woman heading over towards it. Only a couple of other soldiers were nearby, one wringing a wet rag out to place on his forehead while another was simply lounging beside the rim. Trudy got on her knees in front of the rippling surface of the water and unceremoniously shoved her hands in only to flick them back upward, splashing water in her face once, then twice, eyes squinted shut as she let out a somewhat angry huff. Why it was angry, she wasn’t exactly sure. Perhaps it was due to a multitude of reasons.

Wiping at her face with the sleeve of her uniform, she stared down at her reflection for only a brief moment. Her stark blue eyes were dull and tired, bags almost as heavy as Reeves’. Her ponytail had become a bit loose, long blonde locks falling over her left shoulder due to her hunched over posture. Stray strands were sticking out from her scalp, which made her sit up abruptly and pull her hair out of its holder with the intent to tie it back up, and tighter this time.

Someone sat down beside her, and she did not realize it as she tucked her holder between her teeth to get her mass of hair in place, combing through tangles with her fingers. That was, she didn’t notice until they spoke.

“Trudy.”

Instinctively, she greeted back, the tension in her shoulders loosening a bit, “Hawkeye.”

It was quiet after that, the alchemist glancing over to find another companion of hers following suit in splashing her face with water. Letting out a quiet breath and letting her face stay wet for a few seconds before wiping it clean with her jacket, which had been taken off to provide some relief from the heat, she sat up as well and stretched her arms, loud pops emitting from her joints.

Trudy’s hair was securely fastened once more in the time it took the sniper to go through the aforementioned motions, resting her hands on her thighs and splaying out her fingers to stretch them. Her head rolled back, staring up at the barren, cloudless sky abovehead. “I trust today went well for you?”

“As well as it can, Major,” the woman replied, Trudy inhaling through her teeth as her neck popped when she tilted it to the side. “And you?”

“Likewise.” Her head lowered back down, turning to look at the woman sitting beside her. Riza Hawkeye was a woman of similar stature as she, though while Trudy relied on alchemy, all Riza had was her rifle and her wits about her – two things she was very, very skilled in. Even so, skill could not erase the tiredness to her caramel eyes or the way her hands held a near-constant tremble that never seemed to quell.

The two of them had clicked without realizing it despite not many words having been exchanged between them. Two female soldiers in the middle of a war, having barely been able to find their roots in their respective commands before being thrown into Ishval, and a hard shell of varying depth that had been formed to protect themselves – it resulted in an almost involuntary friendship that neither had any complaints about. Were the sniper’s hair longer, they could have been mistaken as sisters.

Trudy’s bony fingers skimmed over the surface of the water, lukewarm in the heat of the late afternoon, perhaps, but pleasantly cool against her calloused fingertips. “Silver lost his leg – Comanche, I mean. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about,” she said. “They’re sending him home once he’s patched up; I’ve never seen a man so frantic about not being able to fight before in my life.”

Riza adjusted herself so she was sitting cross-legged, rifle covered in a blanket and tucked up against her collar and over her shoulder. “I didn’t know him personally, but I almost envy him. Being able to go home this early… it’s a blessing we don’t have the luxury of.”

“Unfortunately,” the alchemist replied, shaking her fingers of water and resting her hand back in her lap. “People say to make the best of what we have… I envy the naïveté of the younger soldiers out there who can continue to march into battle with that mindset.”

“You and I aren’t much older, you know,” Riza commented, her companion looking over only to find the sniper giving her a small, lopsided smile. “But… I know what you mean. It feels like I’ve aged years since I’ve been here, even if it’s only been a few months.” Her fingers drummed against the length of her rifle, musing, “I just… assumed it wouldn’t last this long. I didn’t get here very long ago, but… we’ve been fighting for eight years, Trudy. _Eight years.”_

The alchemist glanced down to her friend’s trembling fingers, Riza gripping the fabric of the blanket to still them. “I don’t want any more bloodshed… not on either side. I’ve found myself wishing for the most mundane of things when the war is over: a restful night’s sleep, a trip to the market… maybe even a dog. Just… little things to look forward to.”

Riza gave a quiet, humorless laugh, hugging her gun to her chest as if it was the only thing she would be able to embrace again. “Listen to me go on; this country has enough sob stories already… I’m sorry to prattle on.”

She started a bit when a hand was placed on her shoulder, her gaze following the hand back up to her friend, who only gave her the smallest, most subtle of smiles. “You never have to apologize for wanting more, Riza.” Hand sliding off of her shoulder and back to her lap, Trudy cast her gaze back over to the fountain, the wisp of a smile faded as if it were never there to begin with. “Thoughts like those are what keep us going. Everyone has a reason to go back home… and what matters is that you have one at all.”

Silence fell between the two, the markswoman finally speaking up after a few seconds, “… And what keeps you going, Trudy?”

She had been expecting the question, and yet no prepared answer was to be had. Truth be told, Trudy did not know how to answer such a query. If it was what haunted her when she stared up at the top of her tent at night, how could she answer it when spoken aloud?

Perhaps, for one day, fate was on her side, for her name was called some ways away. Looking up at the source, she found a soldier rushing towards her, glasses falling down his nose. Letting out a breath and giving her a quick salute, he pushed up the brim of his glasses and spoke tersely, “You’re requested at Sector 15. Ishvalans were in hiding and took out the men on guard there; you need to get moving now.”

Not wishing to argue nor remain in her conversation any longer, Trudy got to her feet and stood at attention. Turning around, she nodded down at Riza in farewell, whom only nodded in return before looking back at the fountain distantly.

The soldier was walking, Trudy obediently following. “What’s the damage?” she asked. “All casualties?”

She watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat before replying as stiffly as he could, “Yes. All killed the same way. We’re theorizing that they have an expert on their side – that, or it was an organized attack. Maybe both.”

They stepped out of the camp, Trudy’s palm grazing her uniform’s inner pocket and pulling out two black gloves, yanking them onto her hands as she replied, “And how many? Do we have an estimate of how big the group is? I may need backup if it’s that severe. I know you’re shaken, Hughes, but you have to give me these details as soon as they come if I’m supposed to help.”

“Five casualties,” Maes Hughes replied with a scowl, eyes squinting against the desert wind and the sand it carried along with it. “The perpetrators have supposedly fled, so we don’t know how many there are, but they can’t be far. They likely fled into nearby buildings and expected us to search elsewhere, so check there first. I’m sure you’re familiar with the area?”

“After being stuck there for three days? Of course I do.” She eyed the gun at his waist, quipping, “I’m assuming you _are_ the backup?”

“One of several,” he replied. “Three other men are already stationed there on the rooftops; I was just the messenger.” He stopped walking, reaching for his gun and readying it. Trudy held a hand over the small satchel resting at her side, tugging the string holding it taut and dipping her covered fingers inside in preparation.

“Why didn’t you just get Crimson for this?” she questioned as the two began to walk again, steps measured and cautious. Broken buildings and rubble were directly around them, every sense honed to ensure not a single footstep out of place was missed. “He was closer to the site to begin with; isn’t he in 16 now?”

“Frankly,” Hughes commented as he stepped over a chunk of broken wall, “I’d rather you take care of it. There’s less risk of collateral damage with you.”

“I’ll take the compliment, but I also have to bring up that this wind poses a threat; it’s blowing sand everywhere. A shard could go rogue, or multiple ones. You didn’t consider that?”

Hughes scoffed under his breath, briefly pointing a gun into an empty doorway before continuing his walk, secure in the fact that the building was vacant. “I’m not worried about it because you’re good at what you do, Trudy.”

“I think you give me too much credit, Hughes.”

“You’re telling me this in the middle of the battlefield?”

The alchemist was not allowed the chance to answer, for the sound of footsteps in the distance was heard. Both soldiers stood at alert, Hughes’ grip tightening on his gun as Trudy took a pinch of sand out of her satchel and held it tightly between her fingers. She stepped further ahead, ignoring her companion’s hiss of retort at the action, and stopped at the end of the walkway. At either side of her was the end of a building, rubble and scattered debris here and there.

She waited, and listened.

It happened in the span of no more than five seconds. A shift was heard to her left, sand was sprinkled onto the ground, and red light crackled from the woman’s fingers. The particles of earth were turned into shards, spreading onto the ground and slinking up and spiking like stalagmites and zipping around the leftmost corner. Trudy did not flinch once when the all too familiar sound of flesh being ripped into was heard, accompanied by a cry that descended into a helpless gurgle only to fall silent. Her hand fell to her side, and she stepped into the intersection.

She didn’t know why she looked down; they all looked the same. And yet, something always possessed her to stare at the people she killed, as if they would come back to haunt her if she did not acknowledge her sins. What met her was a sight that made her heart stop, blood chilling and the breath leaving her.

Laying there, back against the wall, was a teenage boy. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen or fifteen, mouth open in a permanent scream due to the glass spear protruding from it. His once vibrant red eyes were dulled from more than just the deaths, and a standard pistol lay beside his fallen hand.

Trudy heard Hughes step around the corner, but she barely registered it. She had no right to be affected by this; not with how much blood her hands had spilt already. It certainly wasn’t the first time she had been ordered to kill a mere child. And yet, this made her head pulse and her stomach tighten, a hand involuntarily moving over her abdomen as it did so. But she did not feel its presence there, much like she could not feel the wind whipping against her hair and causing locks to slap against her cheeks. It was like watching a film in first person, and she was the villain.

“Trudy.”

She blinked hard, and the metaphorical channel changed.  She was back in Ishval, back in front of a corpse – in front of what she was ordered to do. Hand falling to her side, she glanced over her shoulder at the man standing there. His brows were knit, golden eyes studying her features with concern. The alchemist felt her expression cloud over, the sight causing Hughes to subtly frown. “We… have to keep moving. There could be more.”

Against her better judgement, she looked back down at the corpse for a few more seconds before turning and beginning to walk in the opposite direction, Hughes stepping tersely alongside her. Not a word was exchanged, the two only stopping to check buildings and to assure the soldiers stationed on the rooftops were still in position.

“That wasn’t one of them.”

Hughes started a bit when the silence was broken, head turning to look at the woman, but she was staring straight ahead. She didn’t speak again, as if it were all she had to say. He hesitantly replied, “I know that it’s hard to believe, but it isn’t impossible for a teenager to – “

“You said it was an organized attack,” the alchemist interrupted, “or done by a professional. How were they killed, Hughes?”

“Shrapnel,” he replied, accompanied by a bit of a stammer. “We think they have a bomber on their side, or someone with a lot of grenades.”

“They were all killed the same way, you said. How can that be possible with something as unpredictable as a bomb?”

Hughes shifted his hold on his gun. “That’s why we’re saying professional; they were very deliberate with their targeting. It’s likely they took each soldier out one by one.”

“So not only do we have a rogue bomber Ishvalan, but also a sadist?” she asked tersely. “Or am I understanding that the higher ups still have no idea what happened to these men?”

“It’s still very early on – “

“That boy was not the reason for the deaths of those men,” she stiffly interrupted. “He was wearing standard Ishvalan clothing with no bulges anywhere to show hidden weaponry. His pistol was a revolver; it appeared to be a Webley, but I’m no gun expert.” Her hands raised, yanking the hem of her gloves down rather harshly to secure them. “A six-shot revolver would not have caused shrapnel damage so specifically.”

Hughes inhaled to speak, but once again, the woman cut him off. “And before you start accusing him of being involved, we just established that this was likely the work of either a group of men or a sadist. If he was part of that group, they would have equipped him with better weaponry and defense, and he would likely be traveling with them as well. We searched every building on that block and they were all empty save for our own men.

“Our perpetrator has long since left the premises,” she concluded, arms back at her sides as she stopped walking to face the man. “We’re on a wild goose chase. That was just a rogue boy likely trying to find something in the rubble of this sector and nothing more. Our time has been wasted, and I would, as your superior, request we move back to camp and find a new modus operandi. Are we clear?”

The man was visibly dumbfounded, brows knit tightly. Finally, he let out a sigh and nodded once, replying, “Understood.”

He turned to walk back, but stopped when he found that Trudy was not following. Before he could question her, she spoke up, “I’ll be in behind you. I need to ensure that the rest of the area is secure. Tell the soldiers to go back with you; I have no need for protection here.” With that, she walked off, calling, “And don’t wait up!”

Trudy turned a corner and stood against the stone wall, folding her arms tightly with her back up against it, eyes closed. There the woman stood, waiting for what was surely several minutes, or possibly longer than that. Time either stood still or flew by in a blink in Ishval, the only sign of time passing being that of the sun beginning to set on the horizon, bathing the desert in a rich orange glow.

Surely Hughes was gone by then. Unfolding her arms, she stepped away from the wall and walked back from where she had originally come from, not shying away from the sight that greeted her right next to it. She stepped up to the corpse, choosing to ignore the subtle stench of decay, and crouched down in front of it. For a moment, she just sat there in silence in front of the boy, the wind having died down to naught more but a breeze. Her hair fluttered over her shoulder, the corpse’s clothes rustling.

Hand dipping down to her satchel, she took out a handful of sand and held it in her leather palm, the substance obscuring the intricate circle sewn into its surface. Her fingers loosely curled up around it, light crackling from her fingers and resembling static shocks. Even as the sand grew red hot and formed into crystalline shapes, she did not flinch as the heat kissed at her cheeks.

Her work was done. A glass tulip, complete with stem and leaves, rested in her covered hands. It looked so fragile that the slightest gust of wind would cause it to shatter, a rainbow prism reflecting off of its surface in the lingering desert sun. There was something insulting about offering an item to the dead made out of the substance that killed them, but flora wasn’t exactly easy to come by in a place such as Ishval.

Trudy lowered her creation down, tucking it in the sash of the boy’s clothing and staring at it resting there before slowly getting to her feet. The corpse was far from appearing peaceful, its eyes having lost their color, skin paled, and mouth forever open in a scream. The alchemist’s head dipped, hands clasping behind her back as she felt her eyes close.

“I do not know if you exist,” she murmured, so quiet it was scarcely above a whisper, “and I do not bow my head and come to you for forgiveness. The sins I’ve dealt are far past that.”

She hesitated, breath catching on her tongue as her eyes opened. Trudy looked up at the sky, the moon already growing opaque above her even as the sun set on the other side of the desert.

“All I ask of you is to give this boy and his people the rest they desperately deserve.”

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to write something about ishval and i suddenly got super attached to this oc that i made like a month ago but never did anything with so i dropped everything to write this whoopsies  
> i might write more with her in the future?? like she has this whole story and everything. if people like her i'd be happy to make some more stuff


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